


Pancakes

by shinesurge



Series: Pancakes AU [1]
Category: Kidd Commander (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 15:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinesurge/pseuds/shinesurge
Summary: Agatha is a cute waitress and Phineas is too gay to function. Meanwhile, Ulrich is suffering, as usual.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted a while back but then some stuff happened and I didn't want it around anymore! But then more stuff happened and I'm fine again, neat. 
> 
> It's very much an excuse for domestic interactions and I'm not sure how exciting that is for anybody who isn't me, BUT you're welcome to hang out with me here as long as you feel like it. Like with the other AU's this one meanders and updates painfully sporadically between comic work, but I hope you have a good time anyway!

"Pancakes please." The waitress' expression in return remained exactly as it was, as deadpan as one could be without jeopardizing a tip.

"Which pancakes." she asked flatly, and Phineas smiled; she had been purposely vague to draw out this interaction, just like every other night. Ulrich, across from her in the booth, sipped his hot chocolate and sighed through his nose, pretending to ignore them both. Phineas reached over the meridian between the diner's seating and the kitchen area and plucked a menu from the counter, and the waitress' gaze trailed upward from her ticketbook, glaring into empty space from under narrowed eyelids.

"She'll have the chocolate chips." Ulrich offered suddenly, smiling brightly up at the woman. Phineas, right in the middle of pretending like she wasn't about to order exactly that, dropped the menu.

"Hey-"

"I'll have it right out." the waitress snapped, not looking up as she furiously scribbled out their ticket and hustled off to call the order. Phineas kicked Ulrich's shin under the table.

"You asshole." she grumbled. Ulrich was staring at her hard over the rim of his mug, the cheery cartoon pancake logo for Zippy's Clutch a hard sell under his gaze. The way he held it under his nose fogged up his round glasses, just a little bit, making his big blue eyes seem misty.

"You need to leave her alone." he said from behind his mug and his hands and the cartoon. He had started saying this at least once every time they came here, which was a lot more than it should have been considering Phineas could never pay for it. She was lucky Ulrich liked her company, even if he'd cut off his own fingers before admitting it.

She sulked, still, and she saw Ulrich's twitch as she started curling her toes, slapping her flipflop on the floor rapidly. She did it louder, slouching low in the booth and sticking out her feet closer to him.

"Quit _pouting._" he said. Phineas blew a lock of bright hair out of her face. It instantly settled back into an impressive arch, a marvel of modern architecture.

"You just don't want me having sex in the apartment anymore."

"You're optimistic." he fired back placidly. Phineas' face broke into a grin too big for it and she pressed her sandals to the ground, attempt at petulance forgotten already.

"Yeah I guess." Phineas fiddled with the menu because it was in front of her, a garishly colored laminated placemat typical for 24-hour diners. It occurred to her that if she finished her soda then Agatha, the pretty name for the pretty late-shift waitress she'd developed a fascination with over the last few weeks, would at some point probably come back to refill it. She sat up quickly, flatting her palms down over the menu and clattering the heavy rings on her fingers against the table conspicuously. Ulrich made a disapproving noise as she drank too fast.

"It's shitty to hit on a waitress." he said, sternly but not unsympathetically. Phineas wondered how he managed that. She stuck out her lower lip again and twisted her necklace on its chain, one of Jo's bottle trinkets with herbs inside. An iron rooster charm hung from the jump ring and she appreciated how it stung her fingertips.

"I know," she mumbled guiltily. "but I only _see_ her when she's a waitress."

"Maybe you wouldn't have to find all your social stimulation in Zippy's waitstaff if you started taking classes again."

"Bah." Phineas said. They both knew that wasn't happening. Phineas had barely graduated high school, and after half of one undeclared college semester she had simply stopped showing up and gone back to work for Jo. Ulrich didn't seem to care how Phineas' half of the rent got paid so long as it did, but his lack of questioning about what her surrogate mother got up to conveniently aligned with his innate terror of the woman. Phineas smiled absently at Ulrich's roundabout evocation of Jo, recalling the last time he'd come to the house with her for a homecooked meal. It had been an unmitigated disaster for Ulrich Weiss, like most things in his life, but hysterical to everyone else involved.

The conversation petered out and Phineas noticed Ulrich rub his neck and get far away in his eyes the way he did now and then. He was just a Far Away guy, she thought, and sometimes it seemed like he was drowning in something she couldn't see and she had to force herself not to grab him and drag him up for air. When he cleared his throat like he couldn't quite get it right, she considered asking him what was wrong but Agatha returned with their food and Phineas brightened instantly.

"Strawberry crêpes," Agatha listed dutifully, placing Ulrich's plate in front of him. She was less delicate with Phineas' shortstack. "chocolate chips."

Ulrich watched Phineas' dopey expression throughout the exchange. He didn't notice Phineas' crushes too often, not inclined to bother with opinions on that sort of thing at the rate they came and went, but Agatha was interesting because she hardly displayed, well...anything. Her speech was curt and professional, her expression neutral or annoyed most of the time. She wasn't _unattractive,_ he guessed, although he felt especially unqualified for that method of assessment next to Phineas. Long hair, always tied up behind her in a regulation service-industry style, sharp features around strikingly bright blue eyes that demanded one's attention. Perfectly adequate. But she wasn't...she hadn't...

"She's hardly _done_ anything." Ulrich said, once Agatha had left their ticket and stalked safely out of earshot. "What is it you're so smitten with?" Phineas swallowed a mouthful of chocolate.

"I dunno, she seems lonesome, don't you think?" She thought for a beat. "Or _mad_. I wanna know what she's so upset about." Ulrich raised an eyebrow. Phineas looked away. "I wanna see how she kisses."

"You _don't_ just want to sleep with her." it was a question and a statement, both.

"I absolutely want to sleep with her." Phineas caught the straw sloppily and took a swig of her freshly refilled soda. "I can want two things."

* * *

When they finally left to start the walk home, after wasting an appropriate amount of time taking up a booth and drinking caffeine, Agatha was standing behind the diner near the loading areas. This was new. It was unseasonably cold but she didn't seem to notice, leaning against the brickwork and pulling from an electronic cigarette. The end of it glowed blue in the dim light, flashing brighter when she breathed deeply.

Phineas and Ulrich had to walk past her to get to the street, and at first the two parties did well politely ignoring each other. Phineas fidgeted, shoving her hands deep into her orange hoodie's pockets.

"She's on break right now." she mumbled, finally breaking and glancing over her shoulder.

"She's on _break_ right now." Ulrich responded sharply.

Before she could lose her nerve Phineas turned around and backtracked to Agatha, who caught her in her gaze but said nothing as Phineas came closer, finally stopping directly in front of her. Agatha continued to say nothing while a surprised look crossed Phineas' face, like she'd just woke up and found herself there. Phineas collected herself, settling back on her heels. Agatha was so tall she had to tilt her head back to look at her properly.The motion light behind the building had clicked on when Phineas approached, and it caught the flyaways of Agatha's half-shift hair ethereally. Phineas tried not to think about what adjectives like "ethereal" indicated regarding her feelings about a stranger.

"It's shitty to hit on waitresses." Phineas said adamantly. Her eyes tracked to the light on Agatha's cigarette as it brightened. She was much more real out from under the ugly yellow pallor of her occupation and Phineas' mouth was suddenly dry.

"Yes." Smoke curled out of the corner of her mouth as Agatha spoke. Phineas cleared her throat.

"I just don't want you to think I'm shitty." she clarified.

"Should I?" Oh, her voice was lovely even when she was being difficult. It seemed to have fallen into a lower register as soon as she stepped outside of Zippy's what must be her usual tone.

On cue, Ulrich snorted somewhere in the dark off to Phineas' right. The motion light blinked out and a billow of steam poured from a grate near Agatha's feet.

"No, uh. I just. Do you wanna go get food sometime?"

The cigarette winked at her again. Agatha's calm stare was completely unreadable and Phineas began shifting nervously, curling her toes into the worn places in her sandals.

"Somewhere else, not here. Unless you really wanted to I guess."

"Like a date?" Agatha said at last. Phineas nodded. Then Agatha nodded too, to herself, then Agatha kissed her.

Phineas' reason stalled out for an instant. Agatha's hand was under her chin, tilting her face up, and Phineas fought the urge to stand on her toes and tangle her hands in Agatha's hair. She couldn't quite decide _what_ to do with her hands, instinctively raising them to her shoulders to touch before realizing that might not be a great idea, balling them awkwardly around thin air, finally lowering them as Agatha pulled away. In the scant space between them Phineas was suddenly very aware of how loud her breathing was. Agatha's eyes were awfully blue.

Agatha smiled.

"You wouldn't know what to do with me." she said softly. Phineas blinked.

"Wh. What?"

Agatha patted her cheek, pocketed her cigarette, then turned and went back inside the restaurant. The heavy slam of the industrial door enveloped around Phineas as she held a hand to her cheek where Agatha had touched it. Ulrich lilted a whistle when she wandered back to him. She was looking down at her feet, flushed.

"What _was_ that?" she asked as they ambled through the parking lot to reach the sidewalks. They turned homeward, the corner of the apartment building visible a short distance away over the roof of a closed Radio Shack. Ulrich scratched his chin. In the orange glow of the streetlights his glasses shone gold.

"That was a no, Kidd." he said dryly. "It's not something you're told often, I know." Phineas ran a hand through her hair.

"Why did she kiss me though?"

"I have no idea, isn't that more your field of expertise?"

"You could just say you don't know, mister psyche major."

Ulrich hummed as they approached the front door of their apartment building, digging his keys out of his long coat. The hard plastic mardis gras mask keychain caught on the silk lining of his pocket and he wrestled with it for a moment.

"I think," he said, holding the door open for her. "I would not think on it."

"I'm gonna, though."

"I know."


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets pretty graphic with the sickness stuff towards the end, take care.

Phineas woke up slowly most days. Even as early as she was supposed to be at work, Ulrich was always gone by the time she had to think about heading for Jo's, so she had the house to herself while she puttered around looking for breakfast. She slept in boxers and didn't usually bother putting a shirt on just to eat by herself, and today was no different.

There was a wood panel wall between the living area and the kitchen, but it was the kind with a window built in so their television was visible over the thrift store couch, comically short because the feet had been torn off by the previous owners. She turned on some morning cartoons for company while she stood in the open fridge, gulping orange juice from the container.

Resigning herself to the fact that she didn't care to actually prepare anything, Phineas hoisted herself up to sit on the laminate countertop and checked her phone while the toast was making.

Ulrich and Ellie both had sent her a short string of texts; she contentedly banged her heels against the particle board cabinets underneath her while she read.

_Ellie Kuznetzov_ _2:13 AM: heyyy we're gonna be free this weekend if you wanna meet up maybe? we can do lunch_

Phineas decided she liked the noise and kicked the cabinets harder.

_Ellie Kuznetzov_ _2:15 AM: and go from there, if you're up for it_

Phineas caught her lip between her teeth and smiled. As she typed a response the charms hanging off her phone's headphone jack clicked together, a mixture of anime figures and more of Jo's trinkets. Tapping her ringed finger against the side of her phone, she reread her message carefully, wanting to sound excited to see them without being clingy. She added more emojis.

The toaster popped and she jumped a foot in the air.

Phineas tore a paper towel from the roll where it had been left lying on its side directly next to the rack, folded it in half and felt through it to fish for a butter knife in the drawer. Their kitchen drawers were a mess, full of salt and too many unidentifiable metals thanks to Ulrich's paranoia about fey pests. There were too many little magic creatures that haunted dark corners, and Ulrich's decisive lack of abilities to deal with them made him a firm believer in preventative measures. Phineas didn't mind indulging him, but a knick in her toe from a dropped grater was plenty encouragement to no longer plunge her hands in blindly. There were no clean knives, so she picked out a spoon and mashed as much cold butter on the bread as she could before getting frustrated and eating it only half condimented.

Ulrich's message was much less exciting.

_Ulrich_ _6:06 AM: I will be late, you can eat without me. Please do the dishes sometime today._

Phineas munched her toast with one hand and tapped with the other.

_Everything fine?_

The typing dialog appeared almost immediately.

_Ulrich_ _8:22 AM: Yes._

Phineas swallowed and sighed through her nose, stilling her feet. In the ensuing quiet, the Sesame Street theme wafted into the kitchen softly.

_I'll leave a light on._

No response; he must be done. Phineas slid off the counter, her anklets chiming as she hit the floor. She tried to remember if it was an exam week or something. Was he tutoring?

OH wait it was set building, probably. She vaguely remembered Ulrich bringing up play things recently, he must have told her about this and she forgot. Or maybe that stuffy old professor he’d started working with needed his help with something? Ulrich was a busy guy, it was hard to keep up. Satisfied there were non-worrying reasons for his weirdness, she shoved the rest of her breakfast in her mouth and wandered into the bathroom.

After her customary few moments of making faces at herself, Phineas reached for the facewash she liked, the kind with little bead thingies in it. She picked up the bottle and almost missed what was behind it.

It was a torn blue fragment of Something, it had been stuck between the soap and the sink. It was about the size of a thumbtack and stood out against the green porcelain brightly, way too vibrant for something ordinary. Phineas knew magic when she saw it, and she also knew touching unknown magic was a terrible idea. She furrowed her brow and assessed for a second before cautiously reaching out to inspect it. It stuck to her fingertip, didn't burn or flash or burst. It was silky smooth, like paper, an artificial blue against her skin, and looking closer there were....spots. Red spots dotted along the length. Now that she recognized it for what it was she knew it was Ulrich, felt him very very faint but unmistakable. Not that she _needed_ to be a Hulder to deduce that; who else would be bleeding in their bathroom?

A cold shock was slowly working its way up the back of Phineas' neck. She realized now the sink was spotless; it had just been cleaned. Ulrich was neat, but nobody was THAT put together at six in the morning before classes. She sighed heavily through her nose and sat on the side of the tub, staring intently at the soft shard in her hand. The obvious thing to do was ask him, but also obvious was the fact that he wouldn't answer her.

Okay, it might be nothing. Maybe he cut himself shaving and made a mess. Ulrich Weiss, who made a nuisance of himself at parties with sleight of hand tricks had cut himself shaving, cut his _face_ just before a stage production. With....some sort of enchanted razor.

She called Jocasta.

* * *

Jo was in the garden when Phineas rode up, standing on the pedals of her bike to get through the thick gravel covering the road. The sun had come out so it was warmer today, but trivial details like the weather didn't generally keep Jocasta from doing what she wanted to either way. She hardly glanced up as Phineas slammed the breaks and sprayed stones all over the wooden porch.

"Hey," Phineas called, fiddling with the kickstand. Jo stood and brushed her hands together to shake off the dirt, then down the front of her short canvas apron, the pockets full of glass things and metal tools with safely thick plastic handles. Her feet and the bottom of her jeans were caked with dust, and she looked critically at Phineas from under the brim of a straw hat that had seen better days.

"Let me see." She asked. Phineas shrugged out of her backpack and dug inside, eventually producing a mason jar. The Something lay in the bottom; in the time it had taken Phineas to get to Jo's shack on the outskirts of town it had faded from its bright blue almost to grey, making the blood stand out even more. Jo bent with her hands on her knees to squint through the glass, her long dreadlocked ponytail spreading over the back of her dirty old t-shirt.

"Mm." she mumbled, taking the jar from Phineas and holding it up to catch the sunlight. Phineas fidgeted with the zippers on her bag. Jo dropped her hands to her sides. "Come on inside, I can try a couple things."

Phineas followed her up the steps onto the porch, her feet feeling heavy and uncomfortable in her work boots. Jo stopped at the crate she kept as an outside table to collect her pipe and they paused while she relit it. The breeze chimed through the silver and iron curiosities hanging over the sunbleached railings and Phineas hugged her backpack to her chest, the sounds making her feel small and homesick. She had spent a lot of time on this porch; she had spent maybe hundreds of nights sitting in the ugly green lawn chair leaning to the other side of the crate while jo smoked, even had hazy memories of helping to build it. Jocasta never needed help with much of anything though. Phineas wasn't sure what species she was, some ancient firey thing with a presence made heavy with years. It didn't really matter, Jo was Just Mom as far as Phineas was concerned. Jo touched her arm and led her inside, already puffing emerald smoke over her shoulder.

Jo’s enormous purple cat sailed past her and out the door while Phineas wiped her already clean feet on the worn welcome mat out of habit. Jocasta tossed her hat on the kitchen table. The familiar smell of the wood in the kitchen eased the lump in Phineas' throat a bit, the grain thick with smoke and a few more decades of meals than a person should be able to prepare. Despite the sudden upswing in the weather there was a cheerful fire chattering in the stove, simmering something spicy in a big metal pot. The crisp smell of dried plants pervaded everything else, wound as they were throughout the room curing in jars and hanging in baskets and growing over shelves. Jo was already sifting through a spice rack full of both glass and plastic bottles, cursing for letting her labels fall by the wayside over time. Phineas sat at the table and laid her head on her arms, listlessly staring at her mason jar like keeping eye contact might keep the contents from doing anything harmful. A gruff gloved hand fell on her head and ruffled her hair affectionately before Jo appeared on the other side of the table with a tiny yellow bottle.

"Let's see what we got here." Jo's laquered pipe hanging from her lip hardly obscured her words, accompanied as they were by a burst of smoky shimmering leaves. They drifted down around the jar as she reached for it, melting away when they touched the tabletop. She shook the thing out into her palm and pinched it, just gently, to check the texture (Phineas guessed, although Jocasta still wore her gloves she had always seemed to be able to feel through them just fine), then carefully droppered a tiny bit of the yellow bottle's liquid against it. The concoction beaded up in her hand immediately, then swarmed around the shard and engulfed it. For a moment Phineas was transfixed as it hung suspended, like a leaf trapped in amber. The blood spots disappeared, and then as quickly as it started, the entire mixture evaporated, taking the piece with it. Phineas stared at Jo's empty hand, then up into her proud face, and she was flooded with respect for her mother. Serious, her dark eyes focused on the task at hand-

"Whoops," Jo said.

"_Whoops??_" Phineas whined. Jo wiped her hands on her shirt.

"Sorry, that stuff usually isn't so volatile. Whatever that was must've been real delicate." Jo sank into the carved wooden chair across from Phineas, lifting one knee and bracing it against the table as she leaned back. She took the pipe from her mouth and blew more smoke from her nose, the plume illuminating the outline of a treetrunk off to her left.

"It did tell me a little bit," she mused, catching Phineas' gaze. "it was organic. You found this in the bathroom sink you said?" An enthusiastic nod.

"ON the sink." Phineas corrected suddenly, unsure if that was important. Jo shrugged.

"Damn near could be anything, kiddo. He sick? He been acting funny?"

"No more'n usual."

They were quiet, both of them thinking their own thoughts. Jo stood up.

"Well, I got weeds need pulling and clients scheduled for today expecting medicine, we're not gettin' much done just sitting here." she nudged the straw hat towards Phineas. "If you can't even tell he's sick then whatever's wrong can wait another day at least. Probably. You ought to just _talk_ to him, anyway."

"He _won't_!" Phineas complained, fitting the hat over her fluffy mass of hair. Jocasta's sigh seemed to come up from her bones, full of time and old smoke.

"Then it ain't your worry anyways. Go earn your paycheck."

* * *

Ulrich didn't like to linger after rehearsals on a _good_ day, but tonight he was especially keen to get the hell out of the theater full of chattering actors. Despite his discomfort with social situations he was very well-liked by his fellow actors and they were always badgering him to go with them for dinner, to go to the cast parties or this or that. He generally liked the attention but tonight it was all just a bit much; he didn't have it in him to smile and get himself out the door with a polite excuse. He'd barely made it through practice, stumbling over lines he had had memorized for weeks and missing enough cues to gain concern from the director. A run-through did _not_ stop for Ulrich Weiss, it just didn't. He desperately wanted out of the building before anyone asked him what the problem was. He shrugged into his long black coat and swept a paisley blue scarf around his neck haphazardly; he could fix it outside. He just needed to be gone, right now right now.

Ulrich managed to get by the director while she was in her office, pushing through the side door behind the stage into a shock of cold night air. His feet carried him down the loading ramp while he dug his earmuffs out of his coat pocket, just managing to gather his hair away and get them over his ears when he nearly walked into two girls who had stopped to chat in the middle of the sidewalk. The one he almost ran off the walk turned to look at him, her hand flying up to her mouth.

"Oh, Ulrich! Sorry, I..." she looked like she was about to make a joke, but she and her companion both seemed at an uneasy loss for words upon seeing him. He knew he must look a mess under the orange light of the quad's campy little street lamp; his eyes felt like they were looking out from deep wells. He was a menace, a chubby skeleton boy running girls off the road. This wasn't funny but he was frustrated enough he had to stifle an exasperated laugh. He managed to only shake his head.

"Not a problem, I wasn't paying attention either." He adjusted his muffs over his ears without waiting for a reply and pressed by the girls.

"See you tomorrow!" one of them called politely. He made a gesture completely unlike a wave over his shoulder without looking back.

The fog was thickening and there weren't many others in this part of campus at this time of night.

The theater building, sensibly, was where productions and presentations of all kinds were held, so it was near the front offices and administration facilities which had seen their last employees off hours ago. Ulrich stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched against the cold, too-aware of his chest under his clothes. It felt fluttery and strange, like something was brushing against him from the inside, and every few breaths something hitched in his throat he didn't want to think about. He tasted, _something_, he wasn't sure what but he knew it wasn't a good sign. He kept remembering that morning, waking from an awful nightmare only half-remembered, unable to draw a breath and-

Ulrich stumbled to the nearest lightpost and doubled over against it. He tried to cough, but his lungs felt like they were solid, his throat closed around curls of silk like fingers and he retched breathlessly. He pressed his forehead to the lightpost while his body tried to heave through whatever was blocking his air, just like he'd pressed his face against the bathroom mirror as his knuckles turned white around the edge of the sink, until-

Whatever it was finally forced its way through his throat and Ulrich choked, wheezing in and catching on the rest of the stuff, wetter now, sending himself into a coughing fit. It was miserable and it _hurt_ after the previous session had already made him raw, but coughing up this invading thing was much better than suffocating. He assumed. The sounds he made were foreign to his ears, his own voice unrecognizable stretched around such ugly consonants. If he had the spare thoughtspace he would have been mortified; thank god no one else was around.

The worst of it finally passed and he swiped saliva and reflexive tears from his face, along with an amount of blood that made his stomach plummet. The sight of it smeared on his hand shot fear through the base of his skull like sandpaper, making him dizzy with it. Was this more than there had been this morning? Was it getting worse? He couldn't tell in this light. At his feet, piled impressively around the base of the streetlight, was a scattering of bright blue lotus petals along with some of their centers. They were spattered with blood, pitch black in the nighttime. Ulrich's hands began to shake and he wheezed, hoarse gasps whistling through his damaged throat. His legs threatened to drop him and he didn't have the mental acuity to fight them, but approaching footsteps surged his social anxiety forward enough that he turned his back against the post, swaying his weight into it while he scanned the darkness beyond its pool of orange.

A tall figure formed into view, he recognized it immediately.

"What the hell happened to _you?_" Agatha asked.

Running into this particular acquaintance on the heels of what had just happened was exactly enough awkwardness to cap off the limit of stress that Ulrich could take for the evening, and in response to her question his knees stopped functioning. Somehow, Agatha moved much faster than she should have been able to and he felt strong arms catch him before he could hit the pavement. Black spots bloomed in his vision.

"Easy," Agatha mumbled, easily hoisting Ulrich back to his feet. She held his shoulders and tried to look in his eyes, but he was having trouble focusing. She snapped her fingers near his nose.

"Hey, come on now." at the sound of her voice Ulrich's head lolled backwards and he tried to focus on her face. She heaved a sigh.

"Do I need to call someone? Do you need medication?" Ulrich groaned and forced himself to shake his head. He gently grasped the sleeve of the canvas jacket she wore and slid her hand off his shoulder, desperate for any small comfort he could get.

"No," he said. His voice caught in his throat and he turned from her to cough up the last of the irritant, reflexively covering his mouth with his arm. When he took it away, two long flower petals and a spray of blood blotched the fabric, catching a glare. Agatha frowned.

"You're-"

"I am fine." he cut her off, picking off the petals and stuffing them in his pocket with a wince. Disgusting. His duster was dry clean only.

Agatha threw up her hands.

"Alright, you're fine." she dropped them to her sides. "Can you make it home? Call that girl maybe?"

Ulrich couldn't quite smother an exasperated whine. He wanted nothing more than to crawl in his own bed, but the thought of possibly having to explain himself to Phineas was enough to make him hesitate. Agatha looked him over with the uncompromising intensity of a spotlight. He found himself dimly wanting to stand straighter.

"Are you fighting?" she asked flatly. Ulrich shook his head.

"Look," Agatha said sharply. "it's late and you really don't seem like you're doing very well; we're going in the same direction. Let me help you get home."

"Why?" Ulrich asked defensively.

"Because you tip well," she responded, so dry Ulrich actually couldn't tell if she was kidding. "I'd rather you live."


	3. 3

Somehow, through a series of events he would only acknowledge as the consequences of his failing health and subsequently lowered defenses, Ulrich found himself sitting on Agatha's balcony. As it happened, she lived in another building in the same apartment complex, alone, and when Ulrich hesitated to stop at his own as she walked him back she offered him a cup of tea. He accepted, still a bit out of sorts and his guts warning him urgently to avoid Phineas for the time being, but he hadn't realized how late it was until he was squared away in a cast iron deck chair under the tease of starlight the city allowed. Agatha sat next to him dragging absently on that electronic cigarette again. She almost looked like a statue in the moonlight, something lithe and intimidating to perch on a pedestal in a hotel fountain.

Ulrich breathed in deliberately, the bite of cold air in his lungs reassuring him for now. It had been like this before, too, after he thought he was going to die curled up on their bathroom floor. It would get bad again. He stayed aware of his breath, unable to stop looking for it to hitch.

"Hanahaki," Ulrich mumbled, breaking their long silence. Her disinclination to speaking was appreciated, but he _did_ have questions. "you said you have experience with it?" Agatha, slouched down in a matching iron chair with her feet propped up on the railing, exhaled a white plume of vapor that billowed away on the wind. She seemed to be calculating her answer carefully. Ulrich didn't push.

"I had it once." she said finally. Her voice was strange to Ulrich's ear, still low and matter-of-fact but far from her flat customer service voice. Something otherworldly was there he couldn't quite place yet, something that made his hearing aid static just slightly as it passed along the sounds.

She paused, long enough Ulrich realized he might need to guide her a bit more.

"You seem to have recovered." he prodded gently.

"You could say that."

"What did you do?" She drew in again, she blew out again.

"I cut it out." Ulrich nearly choked on his tea.

"Excuse me?"

"There's a procedure, you." Agatha took a moment to organize her thoughts.

"You have flowers rooting in your lungs." she started. "It's love, you loved something too much and tried to squash it down, so this is how it's manifesting." she smiled sardonically at him and he nearly shivered. "All that feeling's got to go somewhere, huh?

"Anyway. You can get it cut out, I went and saw the witch doctor off Carmine Sixth." Ulrich looked up sharply.

"Jocasta Hubris?"

"Yeah, you know her?" Ulrich smirked down at his tea.

"She is Phineas' mother." Agatha actually laughed, a little, and Ulrich's hearing aid didn't even bother trying to translate whatever quality came with it.

"You're shitting me."

"Nope." Ulrich tapped shiny blue fingernails against the ceramic, the heat-activated tetris motif beginning to fade as his drink cooled. He considered his answer carefully before offering it.

"Phineas is a changeling." he said slowly. "I don't know the full story, but she and Jo crossed paths early in her life and Jo has taken care of her since. Phineas doesn't really talk about things from before then."

"Should you be handing out your friend's secrets like that?" Ulrich snorted.

"It is _hardly_ a secret. It will probably be her opener if you decide to go on that date."

Agatha was looking thoughtfully out over the scant bit of cityline they could see from the fourth floor. She seemed to be watching a pair of birds hopping around the gas station roof near the main road.

"I got it for my family." she said softly. Ulrich squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, the intimate confession suddenly reminding him that he was on a stranger's balcony late at night. Who just _told_ people things like that? Not him. Not Ulrich. How stupid.

"Oh?" he said clumsily.

"A few years ago now. I forget how long. Uh." she glanced at him and Ulrich got the feeling her eyes were glowing, bright blue and lit from within. Glowing eyes weren't unheard of around here, but...

"Miss Hubris did everything right. Obviously, or I wouldn't be here. But when they take the flowers, cut out the roots, the feeling goes with it. And there's." she pulled; the vapor animated her words. "There's always a risk it'll take a lot of other feelings with it. Most of them, even. Something like a ten percent chance." She looked absently down at the cigarette in her hand.

"Got lucky I guess."

Ulrich was quiet, absorbing the information. Something was nagging at him. Agatha's chair creaked as she shifted, recrossing her feet with the other on top now.

"So uh. I dunno if that date's going to happen." she quipped, to fill the silence.

"That is something, I-" As always, he paused minutely to steel himself before bringing this up.

"-don't go in for romance. Any kind." Agatha shrugged it off, unaffected as ever.

"Doesn't really matter; like I said, mine was family, nothing romantic. It's just something you love that isn't loving you back, or something you won't admit to. It's just your feelings turning on you."

Ulrich wanted to argue with her, but he couldn't in good faith. He was very good at lying when it was necessary, as many actors often were, but sitting next to this woman who had so thoroughly read his position made it seem too tiresome to fool with. They both knew they both knew she was right. He was reminded faintly of Phineas.

"What else can be done?" Ulrich asked instead. "Anything?"

"You can acknowledge your feelings by telling the person they're for. But that only cures the flowers if it ends up being reciprocated." The fact that Agatha had ended up needing to resort to surgery, for one reason or another, hung in the air between them. Not quite awkward, but Ulrich had nothing helpful to say.

"And if it's not a person?" Agatha pocketed her cigarette and shoved her hands in her coat, crossed her legs the other way. Her boots' thud reverberated through the iron bars hemming in the balcony.

"I don't know. I've never met anybody who got it for something that couldn't love back." Ulrich's anxiety wound tighter in his belly. He breathed in deeply. Still smooth, no problems. Yet. He downed the rest of his tea for something to do.

"I will speak with Jo, I suppose." he mumbled. He stood. "I should go."

"You're welcome to stay, I don't mind the company." Ulrich shook his head.

"I have classes in the morning, I should try to get some sort of sleep." He closed his fingers around the mug, grounding himself in the solid shape. "Thank you for the tea." Agatha stood and stretched. Ulrich nearly took a step back in surprise; he hadn't been paying attention on the way over, but now realized she was taller than he by what had to be at least two feet. She looked a lot more threatening out of her waitress garb.

"Anytime." Agatha walked him through her dark apartment and saw him out the door. He wasn't sure what to say, so he smiled back at her.

"See you at Zippy's." he said. Her smile in return was small, but appeared to be genuine.

"See you."

* * *

Phineas was asleep when Ulrich got in. He hung his coat and scarf and crept gently into the living space to find her sprawled on the couch. A woman on television was babbling about fantastically-priced camera lenses while Phineas snored softly, still in her work clothes with her hand curled loosely around the remote. She slept with her arms tangled protectively around her head and Ulrich sighed

(still getting air, it's fine)

affectionately at how unkempt she looked. He dragged the throw blanket around her carefully and switched the light off as he retreated to his bedroom, relieved he wouldn't have to confront her about this yet, but. A little frustrated too. It would be nice to get the conversation over with.

Closing the door on the television's white noise felt like stepping out of a crowded room. Ulrich hadn't had a chance to be quietly alone with his thoughts since getting sick that morning, hadn't stopped moving between the pins in his dayboard. Finally he could process; the specter of impending introspection loomed menacingly over his head and he wanted nothing to do with that nonsense. He sat on the bed, neatly made even after his chaotic awakening, and toed off his shoes, pushing them under the bed with his heels. He pulled his hearing aid from his ear, folded his glasses and set them on the nightstand. There was no television in his room, and his laptop sat closed in the center of a functional and organized desk. Heavy blue blackout curtains were drawn over the window, moved from their place so rarely that there were clear color differences in the folds that caught too much light. There were no gateways to the outside, aside from a few vintage stageshow posters hung carefully in their frames. From behind their glass the stars grinned down at him. Ulrich wondered how many of those faces were dead now.

He laid back on top of the comforter and laced his hands over his chest, staring at the popcorn ceiling. He felt his chest rise and fall smoothly, considered the texture of the ceiling, considered a texture where flowers could take root. His chest rose, it fell, his fingers itched against the fabric of his shirt, looking for something to hold. He had to calm down, wanted to still the hammering heartbeat in his ears, but breathing only reminded him that he was sick, He Was _Sick_. He was sick he was _damaged_ and he wouldn't-

A knock on his door startled him out of his downward spiral. Phineas didn't wait for him to answer before cracking the door and peering inside.

"Hey," she mumbled sleepily. Ulrich wasn't sure he could answer, but it didn't matter because she walked in anyway. The microfiber blanket from the living room was pulled tight around her shoulders and dragged silently on the floor behind her.

"It's late," Ulrich managed. Phineas sat on the bed without being invited. She was still half asleep from the look of it, her hair stuck up at an impressive angle from being smashed against the arm of the couch. Still, Ulrich grew flustered as she settled her sleepy gaze upon him, heavy-lidded but bright, lighting up all the dark corners in him he preferred to leave alone. He didn't have the strength to struggle, still on the fence over whether his anxiety was going to make the graceful leap into an attack and feeling for the inhaler in his pocket. Phineas smiled at him, warm like fresh cookies with smushy centers, and Ulrich felt something in him start to unravel. She hadn't even said anything. He had _known_ this would happen, That Something about her that made her a little too hard to say no to, whatever fae magic infected her eyes and lit her up like the sun was also adept at reaching inside and gently tugging the lynchpin that sent his composure crashing down. He looked away immediately, his eyes wet.

"Do you know what it is?" Phineas asked, her voice still scratchy. Ulrich sniffed conspicuously and threw an arm over his face.

"I- maybe," he counted a couple breaths. "I'm going to speak with Jo tomorrow."

Phineas yawned and drew her feet under her on the bed, sinking her chin on top of her pile of blanket.

"Good," was all she said. Ulrich felt the weight on the bed shift and turned to face her where she'd lain next to him. She smiled again in return, her cheek squished against the pillow.

"I'll go with you. We can take the bus and get lunch after."

"I have class," Ulrich responded dully, his tears had spilled over but his breathing was evening out.

"Skip em. You get three absences per semester before it affects your grade.

"Those are for _emergencies._" Disdain was creeping back into his tone. "_Not_ an invitation to skip class when you're not in the mood." Phineas shrugged, her eyes drifting shut.

"Is this not an emergency."

"I'll still be sick after my eight o'clock. It's no reason to miss a lecture." Phineas hummed a giggle and snuggled down in the blanket. They were quiet for a moment. Ulrich sighed for what felt like a year.

"You should go to bed."

"I _am_ in bed," Phineas mumbled. Ulrich touched her shoulder and she opened one eye. "You want me to go?"

"You should."

"Are you sure?" Ulrich turned to face her, exhausted in the peculiar way he always was after dental work; the tension drained away and only physical weariness rushed to fill the void. The difficult thing had been done, and he wondered why he'd dreaded it so much. Phineas was looking at him intensely, more awake.

"I'm alright. Thanks."

Phineas huffed and sat up, yawning again.

"Suit yourself." she slid to the floor and drew her blanket cape tighter. She started to wander away towards the door. She collapsed against it bodily.

"Jo can fix anything." Ulrich heard from the lump on the door. Phineas swiveled her head to eye him. "It'll be okay." She saw herself out before Ulrich could argue. He breathed deeply, brushing over the faintest catch in his throat.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a good deal of Hanahaki-typical medical squick in the later half of this, take care.

The cold snap was finally loosening its hold on the tristate area, probably for real this time, and Phineas was feeling especially light on her feet. It was Friday, the day to which they'd decided to move their lunch date after Ellie's girlfriend had been called away at the last minute. Ellie's lady was hard to pin down for an old-fashioned social outing, but Ellie always made a real effort to keep her appointments with Phineas. The fact that they usually ended with both of them hopelessly tangled in the bedsheets probably only had a little to do with it.

Phineas was sitting at a painfully chic little table in front of a painfully college-town cafe, much less crowded than it normally was because it was ten in the morning and all those hip students were in class. Ellie knew this was the best time to meet because she'd worked as a barista there before she transferred schools last year. That was how they met, and although they hadn't started the Benefits part of their friendship until more recently Phineas had certainly entertained thoughts in that direction from the moment she saw Ellie behind the counter. God, it was always waitresses wasn't it? Maybe she _did_ have a problem.

Phineas flipped through apps on her phone impatiently, not processing any of them. She was always nervous before she met with Ellie. She didn't mind how scruffy she felt most of the time in her ripped clothes and her...her hair, whatever you'd call it, but Ellie was much more put together in every conceivable way, and she was very pretty, and Phineas felt incredibly out of her league. Not that Ellie had ever been anything but sweet of course. Phineas tried to recall something encouraging, good for her ego. A giggly compliment or an appreciative sound maybe -

A bulky white faux-leather bag dolloped onto the table, wobbling it to the side with the worst leg, immediately followed by a tray with doughnuts and fancy coffees whose prices would normally pale Phineas' face. Ellie was standing there in a white sundress, a matching scarf around her loose curls and an enormous pair of plastic sunglasses hovering over a bright smile. Phineas hopped up and hugged her tightly, maybe too tightly. Ellie yelped as she came up off her feet.

"You're not late!" Ellie laughed, once she could pry Phineas off of her. She gestured to the food as they sat down. "I thought I'd get here first anyway so I grabbed this from the better place down the street, I actually can't stand eating here anymore. I've made too many of those damn muffins." She was fiddling with her scarf; as she slid it free her ears slowly rose up from where they had been pressed back and tilted a bit forward. Phineas found herself staring without thinking and Ellie caught her. She smirked.

"You goof." Ellie chided. She slid the doughnuts farther across the table. "Eat." Phineas, too instantly comfortable around Ellie to be self-conscious for long, took a big bite out of a Raspberry Something.

"Won't they be mad we're taking the table without buying stuff?" she asked with her mouth full. Ellie made a rude noise.

"Nobody cares about the outside tables. People sit here and smoke all the time, it's fine." She took a long sip of her own coffee, sighing deeply through her nose. Ellie was always in transit, running from one thing to the next. She was majoring in medicine and needed all the scholarship money she could get, so her life was a precarious balance of the fastest possible course load while also collecting financial aid from what was frankly too many extra curriculars. But Ellie was smart and tough and, on the surface, managed it with grace. Phineas knew, privately, it was largely non-academic activities that kept her sane.

Like doughnuts and coffee with an old classmate, or what could possibly transpire afterward, or both. Phineas reached for her own drink, an unholy white-chocolate-cinnamon monstrosity. Ellie smiled again and settled into her seat. It should be illegal how lovely she was, almost ethereal. Literally ethereal, on some days.

"So what's going on with Phineas?" she asked. Phineas finished her pastry and debated reaching for another one. Ellie sensed her hesitation and gave an exaggerated nod.

"Mm," she swallowed her coffee. "G'won, I brought 'em for you." Phineas giggled.

"Thanks." She chewed thoughtfully on an eclair. "Ah, Phineas is fine, not a lot to report with uh. Me. Still workin' with Jo." Ellie nodded.

"I'm glad you dropped out, you seem a lot happier." She said sincerely. Phineas shrugged.

"I think so, I'm not sure. I kinda feel like I should feel bad for NOT feeling bad about it." Ellie waved her hand, making her curls bounce enough to catch the sunshine.

"You should do exactly what you want, this shit's too expensive to mess around." She smiled, dug her teeth into her bottom lip the way she did. "Besides, your arms are filling in real nice with all that farm work."

"You think?" Phineas was digging for compliments; she knew she was in much better shape than last time they'd seen each other. Ulrich and Jo never cared about it though, it was nice to be admired. Ellie nodded solemnly.

"I'm gonna write Jocasta a thank-you note."

"Man she's gonna think I'm sleeping with half the city." Ellie raised an eyebrow and leaned in conspiratorially.

"Oh yeah? Who else you talking to?" She suddenly sat back. "Not Ulrich?" Phineas shook her head in such a way that Ulrich would have been indignant if he'd seen it.

"No way," she laughed. She and Ulrich were asked this fairly constantly, but Ellie knew them both well enough that her question was mostly joking. Any seriousness was couched in the fact that Phineas had admitted to her that she would say yes, if Ulrich ever DID ask. Which he wouldn't, ever. For many many reasons. Probably for the best; Phineas was weak and fucking someone like Ulrich could get complicated and she didn't wanna have to move back in with Jo. Phineas was thinking of elaborating when she remembered his situation, suddenly, and her face must have fallen because Ellie tilted her head. Phineas moseyed on.

"She's a waitress, over at Zippy's." she admitted shyly. Ellie laughed, like bells, her curiosity for potential Phineas Mates more imperative than whatever had darkened Phineas' visage.

"You and waitresses, you're a _mess."_

_"_I know," Phineas scratched the back of her head, looking to the side. "she uh. She rides a motorcycle to work."

"Oh my _god."_ Phineas preoccupied herself with the whipped cream in her coffee.

"I don't even know if she's available. I asked her out and she acted real weird."

"Weird how?" Phineas shrugged again.

"Just weird. It's probably a fey thing, knowing this area." she looked down as she sipped. "Not that _I_ would know about _that."_ Ellie made a sympathetic noise.

"Meeting people is hard," she said. "maybe it'll still work out." Ellie smiled slyly at Phineas' expression, whatever it was just then.

"You're smitten." she said, like she'd caught Phineas cheating on a test. Phineas glanced up in time to catch her hooded eyes staring back at her, felt the familiar tired twinge of excitement at how everyone around her seemed to be terminally attractive. She nodded, running a hand through her hair.

"Yeah, actually. But unlike you and yours she doesn't seem to think my sweet farm bod's real captivating."

"You're a cutie. I'm sure she'll warm up to you if you're a good match." Ellie reached forward and ran her fingers through Phineas' hair where she'd just fluffed it. Phineas smiled and caught her hand, pressed the knuckles to her lips.

"How long do we have today?" Phineas asked, closing her eyes. Ellie's lotion smelled like vanilla. She took her hand back and primly adjusted the strap of her dress.

"As long as we like, but it depends what your roommate's plans are." Ellie's tone was light, but it was obvious she had picked up on Phineas' odd mood when Ulrich had come up earlier.

"He's seeing Jo today," she said slowly. Ellie neatly nibbled a cookie decorated to like a compact.

"He's developed some kind of...something. In his lungs. He's probably going to stay the night there so she can keep an eye on him."

Ellie didn't answer for a moment and Phineas busied herself with her snacks. Ulrich and Ellie had been very close during their early years at the university. They'd met in the theater department and rumors of a secretive romance hadn't been far behind. Even Phineas wasn't _entirely_ sure what the deal was; both of their responses when asked about it were maddeningly vague. Either way, they'd had some sort of falling out that, again, neither would discuss, and any of their unavoidable interactions were now regulated to cold civility. Bah, it was a waste. They would be so cute together, and it would make things SO much easier for Phineas.

Ellie cleared her throat.

"Well, he'd better shape up soon, hadn't he?" was all she said. Some appropriate amount of companionable chatting later they finished their food, hurried home and drew the curtains. 

* * *

Ulrich couldn't stop shivering and it was making him feel nervous for several reasons. First and foremost, shivering in someone else's home was a good way to bring up the horrifically awkward situation of someone asking him if he wanted the thermostat adjusted (impacting their comfort in their own space even after he left, possibly even seen as a rude comment on their home environment?). He tried not to think too much on that part. He had known Jocasta long enough that maybe, _probably_, he could navigate that situation as painlessly as it was possible for him to navigate anything. The real issue was Jocasta's shack was _always_ much too warm for his liking, and being so cold here, feeling his teeth rattle together, only reminded him how ill he must be.

That morning had been spent like the previous day's; waking too early and heaving up flower petals, cleaning up the mess before anyone else could find it. This time he'd gathered some of it into a sandwich baggie, which he aggressively tried to ignore during the bus ride out to Jocasta's, and into which Jocasta was now staring. She kept it sealed while she mashed it with her fingers, trying to get a better look at the debris through the congealing blood and mucus and whatever else Ulrich had hacked up next to the foliage. It was humiliating, sitting on her examination table shaking while she processed what he'd managed to scrape up off the bathroom floor. He kept telling himself that she was a doctor, she dealt with this all the time. Surely this wasn't the most disgusting thing she'd ever seen. She wasn't judging him, she _wasn't_. He swallowed, something in his throat hitching worryingly. It had been there since that morning and every time he noticed it his panic crept closer to the surface.

Jocasta finally looked up from her examination with a sigh, looking over Ulrich long and quietly enough to make him uncomfortable.

"Do you want a blanket or something?" she asked. "I got some jackets might fit you. I don't think you'll need to strip for me today." Whyyy did she always manage to put things in the most uncomfortable terms for him _personally._ Ulrich's instinct was not to trouble her to fetch him anything, but shaking this much would probably be more obnoxious in the longrun. He nodded.

"Yes please, whatever is easier." Jocasta disappeared, returned quickly with a grey Carhartt coat Ulrich recognized from the rack by the kitchen door. He slid into it and wrapped his arms around himself, willing his stupid broken body to be still.

"We're mostly done, but you said you wanted me to check something in your throat?" She held a tongue depressor in one hand and Ulrich swallowed nervously as she came closer.

"It might be nothing but I'm..."

"S'what I'm here for. Open up?" He did, twice, the first attempt interrupted when the irritation at the back of his tongue made him cough. Jocasta peeked inside and Ulrich tried to focus on the ceiling.

"I take it you're feeling pretty sore." She commented. Ulrich made a completely ineffective noise in response, unsure what else to do. She paused for a long moment, then whatever was stuck in his throat nudged the wrong way and he flinched away in another coughing fit.

"Sorry," he managed.

"That hurt?" Jocasta asked softly, once he'd calmed down. Ulrich shook his head.

"It's just irritating, what is it?" She pointedly didn't answer him, going back to her cabinet to find a pair of long plastic tweezers.

"We're gonna find out." She clicked the tweezers together a couple times, looking much more threatening than (he hoped) she meant to, and adrenaline made Ulrich's head light. He definitely wanted this thing gone, though, and despite his intimidation he had complete faith Jocasta knew what she was doing. And probably didn't intend to kill her daughter's roommate. Better to get it over with.

He swallowed, feeling that damn thing shift against his tongue, and nodded.

"I already know what you're gonna say, but do you want a sedative?" oh GOD don't say _that _what are you going to _do to me _

Ulrich wrinkled his nose and shook his head like he was trying to clear it, which he realized was a mistake when his vision lagged behind. Jocasta sighed, coming closer and crooking a finger under his chin, tilting his head back gently.

"That's fine, but I need you to try real hard not to cough, okay? Open." She turned his face one way and another, not reaching inside his mouth yet, then she let go and placed his palm flat on the table, covering it with hers firmly.

"If this hurts, tap," she demonstrated by tapping the flat of her hand twice. "don't grab my arm alright?" Ulrich nodded, clearing his throat one more time before Jocasta took his chin in her hand again. He closed his eyes.

She prodded past his teeth and there wasn't anything for a moment, then his stomach lurched as he felt the thing in his throat catch, and keep catching, several inches lower. There was surprisingly little resistance for how stubbornly it had refused to budge before, and there wasn't any real pain, but it was _exceedingly_ unpleasant. He curled his fingers tightly against the table but managed to keep still. The tweezers ran into the roof of his mouth, he could still feel several inches caught behind his tongue, the texture like waxed lace. He squeaked involuntarily and Jocasta stopped immediately, long enough to give him a chance to tap out, then the scraping started again, the angle lower, the tweezers passing his teeth now.

"Almost," Jocasta murmured. Finally, whatever it was seemed to spring open, fanning spiderlike across the inside of Ulrich's mouth and covering his tongue with the taste of blood, and she deftly tugged the thing free right as Ulrich erupted into an ugly hoarse cough. He threw an arm over his mouth and heard Jocasta whistle appreciatively.

"Check it." She held the tweezers out for Ulrich to inspect. Held there was a pale, somewhat bloody plant stem, perhaps six inches long with several bloomless shoots along the shaft. Ulrich thought of that thing lodged behind his tongue and actually did gag this time, more than a little from the sudden influx of _dread._ He mashed his hand to his mouth and felt a hard mass of Something he had been previously unaware of shift in his chest before his stomach relaxed. Jocasta reached for a bucket she kept nearby, probably for exactly this eventuality, but Ulrich waved her off.

"Good?" she prodded. He nodded weakly.

Jocasta set the stem on a wax sheet on her working counter, then dragged a rolling chair closer so she could sit in front of him. She hooked one clawed foot into a crate stashed under the table, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair until it creaked.

"That's Hanahaki, for sure. Mean, not much else it _could_ be." She pawed at the pockets of her jeans; she must want her pipe, but she didn't usually smoke in the house when patients were present. At her diagnosis Ulrich remembered his balcony conversation with Agatha but, at the last minute, elected not to say anything. Jocasta might give more insight without his interference.

"I thought it was, but I always like to get folks in here for me to look at before I give that diagnosis. The treatment's easy, it's just if it's somethin' more serious I don't wanna overlook it. Better to be sure, lots of stuff looks like nausea and a bad cough."

"Mm?" Ulrich intoned. Her mouth worked while she thought of her words, still missing her smoke.

"You've been suppressing a strong affection for something, probably a person," she shrugged. She wasn't looking at him, which even in his addled state Ulrich noticed. "maybe a thing, a passion, I've seen it happen when someone's ambitions are ignored for too long." Now she glanced at him. "Does any of this sound right?"

Ulrich badly wanted to say yes, that was all it was, Ulrich had gone and bottled things up again but _yet another_ ulcer would have been boring, you see. He could take some pills and take it slow once the semester was over and it would all be copacetic, peachy keen. But that didn't make _sense_; things had been going especially well up until he developed the cough. He'd just gotten the TA spot with Professor Sleight, he was confident in his preparations for the theater production, there was rent money in his bank account. He was silent for a long minute, wracking his brain for any relevant developments. Finally he shook his head slowly.

"No, actually. Things have been fine. Good, even." While he spoke, Jocasta gave up her fidgeting and walked into the kitchen to find her pipe.

"Keep talkin'!" she called through the doorway. Ulrich could hear the rustling of dry leaves, the sound of her digging in the kitchen drawer. This was good, right? She wouldn't smoke around a fatally ill patient. Or maybe it didn't matter at this point, he was too far gone, hell he might die right here in this sinfully ugly farmer's coat.

"There is nothing."

jocasta could bury him in the backyard, in the garden, he could feed the flowers, hahahaha

phineas would be so sad

he never got around to apologizing to ellie, shame,

He raised his voice a fraction and hoped it was enough. "My grades are good, Phineas and I are getting along well. We have, _groceries_, things are fine. They're _fine_." Jocasta appeared in the doorway, green smoke curling from the end of her long pipe. She leaned against the jamb and clicked her tongue thoughtfully.

"No new, euh, affectionate interests?" She raised an eyebrow. "I know this isn't normally your thing, but. Not even a little bit?"

"I haven't really met anyone new recently...I did, sort of talk with a woman yesterday who mentioned seeing you for Hanahaki some time ago." he admitted. "Not romantically. Just uhm. Building mates."

"Well, I've seen a couple cases but I wouldn't really be able to talk with you about any of that." A few smoky blossoms fell from her mouth as she exhaled. "You can get up and put your shoes back on, by the way. I'm done with you for today." Ulrich slid off the table gratefully and started putting himself back together, though he left the coat on for now.

"How common is this disease?" Ulrich asked, trying to make conversation while he tied his shoes.

"More'n you'd think." Jocasta said. She took a long drag and the house settled around them.

"People hide it, they're ashamed. Normally it's...it's pretty obvious what's causing the symptoms."

"Unrequited love," Ulrich mumbled, feeling foolish. Jocasta nodded.

"Romantic love, every now and then platonic. Lotta young folks with family troubles, those are nasty." she squinted at him. "Normally it's _real_ clear what the deal is though, I'm kinda at a loss here."

"If I knew I'd certainly tell you." Ulrich said a bit tersely. He flinched inwardly, but she either didn't notice or forgave him his frazzled nerves. He walked towards her and she turned to lead them to the kitchen, where she set to work making him something hot to drink. Ulrich sat at the kitchen table, falling back into the worrying habit of focusing on his breathing.

"Lemme get you something for your throat." she said over her shoulder in a puff of flower petals. Ulrich watched them apprehensively, an idle thought drifting in about distasteful business ventures. They were quiet and he dozed, finally starting to warm up under the coat while Jocasta clattered around gathering dried things and hot water and whatever else she thought was appropriate. He lost track, lolling in and out of consciousness. The warm woody scent of the kitchen was terribly comfortable.

He stirred when Jocasta carefully set an owl-shaped mug down in front of him. It looked like something Grade School Phineas might have painted herself. The bitter tang of alcohol wafted up towards him and he sniffed, rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

"People keep making tea for me." he rasped groggily.

"That should help with the soreness. I can send some of the spice home with you if you want but otherwise it's just black tea and whiskey."

"Am I going to die?" he mumbled suddenly. His catnap had brought his health anxiety to the forefront, amplifying all the things wrong in his body like points on a radar ringing alarms in his brain. Jocasta shook her head.

"I ain't gonna let you."

"So um, options." Ulrich prodded. Jo seated herself across from him.

"Two options. You can acknowledge your feelings and find some way of working through them, and the flowers die off, _or_ there's a simple procedure. I can do it here, no hospitals." she added hastily when he visibly tensed. "Normally, you need to have your feelings returned by the person the flowers manifested for; it can take years for a passion that strong to die off enough to starve the disease, and you ain't got that kind of time." Ulrich suppressed a cough as whiskey burned its way down his throat. "If you really, honestly don't know what's causing it, the surgery will remove the flowers' roots and when you recover those feelings will be gone."

"Mm," Ulrich swallowed, gesturing with one hand that he had something to add. "Agatha, the woman I spoke to, said there is a chance it could take other emotions as well?" Jocasta nodded and looked away.

"She tell you about it?" Ulrich nodded. Jocasta shook her head to herself, staring down at the tabletop.

"It was the worst I've ever seen. She waited a long time and it had spread, these bright red cypresses like blood, everywhere. It's an outpatient procedure but I kept her here a couple days. Nice girl." She trailed off awkwardly, like she'd wanted to add more but realized she couldn't. She pulled from her pipe and blew several perfect ferns, ribboning in the air above them. "Nice girl."

Ulrich debated his next question.

"Have you ever had it?" she didn't miss a beat.

"Like I say, lots'a folks get it at least once." Her low, sure voice rumbled in Ulrich's ears. He drank for something to do.

"Then it should be alright." Ulrich said, mostly to himself. "You are alright?"

"Yup." Jocasta's tone did not invite further inquiry.

"I'll...try to figure out the cause, and if worse comes to worst I'll come see you again." Jocasta smiled, and even her kind expression looked wicked.

"I promise, I ain't gonna let you die boy. Phineas would never make rent on her own."


	5. 5

Ellie had gone back to the apartment after only one refill, a little after ten. She and Phineas had had an...energetic afternoon, and then an evening, and after a late dinner of shitty pancakes at Zippy's for nostalgia's sake she had decided she just couldn't take any more fun. She had also seen the way Phineas had started when That Waitress hustled in a few minutes late for her shift.

"Is it the uniform?" Ellie asked, smirking behind her hand. It reminded Phineas of Ulrich and the scrutiny raised the hair on her neck.

"I dunno what it is." she replied guiltily. "Maybe I just like girls bringing me food." Ellie giggled, shouldering her bag.

"That's fair." She stood, taking the ticket with her. "Stay as long as you want, I'll probably be asleep when you get back."

Normally Phineas would never let a girlfriend walk home alone, but it was an objective fact that Ellie's magic was stronger than her muscles and they both knew it. She and her big ol' purse would be fine, and Phineas..._really_ wanted to stay here a while longer.

"Text me when you get there." Phineas said anyway. Ellie smiled and Phineas felt her stomach flip. She'd done much more than smile at her, several times and not two hours ago, but still.

Pretty Ellie. Why was everyone so pretty.

"Have fun," Pretty Ellie chirped.

Then Phineas had been left alone. The wave of late dinner folks had cleared out and now she is the only patron left, slouching in the corner booth by the big window looking over the bridge and a row of orange streetlights.

The grill operator is lounging behind the counter, checking her phone. Agatha had disappeared into the back room ten minutes ago but Phineas knows she'll be back to check on her soon. Agatha's maybe more brisk than waitstaff tends to be, but she's very efficient. Apparently summoned by Phineas' musing, the crooked door to the back of the house swings open and Agatha is stalking towards her. She seems incapable of walking normally, perpetually closing in on a cornered kill. Phineas downs the rest of her sodapop without tasting it.

"Thanks," she smiles. Agatha doesn't, hardly even looks at her. Phineas had expected this and tells herself it doesn't hurt her feelings just a little bit.

"Your friend at home today?"

It's so soft Phineas almost misses it. She'd already leaned back in the booth, prepared to be alone again.

"Hmm?"

"Your friend is gone."

"Oh, yeah she's not much for late nights any more." Agatha finishes piling up the dishes in her arms and finally looks at Phineas. Her eyes are the bluest blue Phineas has ever seen, and now that they're focused on her they seem to _glow._ She swallows hard and throttles the urge to babble out of turn, forgetting momentarily under the intense gaze that Agatha hasn't asked her anything.

"No, Ulrich," Agatha says softly. "is he well?"

Agatha had never stayed to chat before, which is probably why every word seems tinged with electricity to Phineas' ears, but the topic of Ulrich isn't one Phineas had been ready for at all. She does her best to respond like a well adjusted person.

"Oh, he's uh."

Phineas realizes with a jolt he hasn't actually told her what's wrong with him. Ulrich is a severely private person, which stings on good days, but realizing she doesn't even have to come up with an unrevealing answer for a stranger is just depressing. She deflates, rolling her empty cup around its bottom rim.

"I dunno. He's sick." she says flatly. Agatha nods.

"Yeah, hanahaki's rough." Phineas stares at her, intimidation rudely shoved aside by shock.

"_What."_

_"_His illness, hanahaki." Agatha squints. "Did he not tell you?" Phineas shakes her head haltingly.

"No, he didn't."

"Huh. He talked to _me_ about it, but," she looks off to the side, and through the onset of some kind of negative emotion Phineas has just enough faculty left to think how pretty she looks under the shitty yellow diner lighting. "I _did_ scrape him off the street after a bad coughing fit, so it was kind of obvious at that point."

Phineas' face must be a sight, because a faint smile forms on Agatha's.

"Are you _jealous?_" she asks.

"No." Phineas pouts.

"Of _who?"_ Agatha sets the dishes back down and sits in the other side of the booth. The toe of her boot scrapes over Phineas' foot and Phineas clumsily straightens up out of the way. Agatha's legs are almost too long to fit under the table.

"I _ain't_." Phineas lies. Agatha leans forward on her elbows, still menacing even when she's sitting down. She maintains eye contact and the creature of Phineas' defiance rolls over in her chest, showing its belly like a cat. Phineas has no fucking idea what this imagery is supposed to mean.

"You got love interests coming out your ears," Agatha says, her voice clear and neutral. "You have no reason to be jealous." Now she sits back, the tendion bleeding away. The speaker system overhead blares to life, playing one of the five awful pop country songs that had been on the jukebox since they'd started coming here. On the other side of the diner the grill operator is deciding on her other two songs. Agatha continues, looking at her hands.

"Besides, he didn't hit on me or anything, we just had tea."

_Tea?!_

"That night he was out so late..." Phineas mumbles. Agatha taps the table.

"Hey, come on," she says brusquely. It's odd. "don't look so miserable, it doesn't suit you." Phineas shakes her head a little.

"Why are you-" No, that's no good. "You're really sociable tonight. What's different?"

"Slow." Agatha shrugs. But she does stand up, and Phineas is afraid she's said the wrong thing.

"I-it's nice!" she stammers. "I don't mind!" Agatha reaches into her apron for her ticketbook, which is weird because Ellie paid them up before she left.

"Are you always this confident?" Agatha says, calmly scribbling something down. She tears out the ticket, folds it in half, then sets it down in front of Phineas.

"I get off at seven most days."

Phin stares at the paper like it's radioactive.

Agatha smiles to herself while she gathers up dishes again. Phineas watches numbly as she disappears behind the door, ducking so she doesn't hit her head.

* * *

Ulrich lets himself into the apartment around four thirty the next morning, Jocasta having given him leave to go home with the stern stipulation he's to stay in bed and get some rest. He has classes, and last week he might have lied and attended them anyway, but the thought of staying in his pajamas and curling up in his bed had been so good he'd nearly cried on the bus back home. He's _so_ tired.

He had expected the dawn-blue stillness that usually permeated the living area when he woke up at this hour, but there's yellow light pouring through the kitchen window, and from the entryway he can hear someone clattering around on the other side of the kitchen wall. The scent of horrible coffee is strong enough to crack through his layers of anxiety a little; it's a very distinct scent, it means he's home. He freezes. Phineas doesn't drink coffee. It sounds like the person in the kitchen freezes too.

"Hello?" oh. Ulrich strangles a groan and closes the door. Wonderful, fantastic, the cherry on the shit sundae that has been this week.

"It's only me, Ellie." he calls, his voice coming surprisingly gentle. He had been aiming for clipped and icy, but apparently there isn't a lot left in his reserves at the moment. He hangs his scarf and his coat and regrets it instantly as the air hits his feverish skin. There's no answer from the kitchen. He drags his socked feet towards the coffee and the person making it.

Ellie's standing there in a long silk nightshirt which Ulrich suspects has just had all its pearl buttons hastily done up to the neck. She has a mug held delicately between her fingers; she had picked one of his. He wonders, again, at their similar tastes and wearily tamps down the lingering knot of feelings that Ellie always seems to tease from him. The ancient coffee pot on the counter she's leaned against is doing its damndest to produce something edible, not yet full.

"Good morning." she says. Ulrich must look awful; his eyes feel like sandpaper in their sockets and he hasn't felt warm since he left Jocasta's shack. Ellie's expression is placid, relative to her usual open disdain for him, and frankly that does much more to damage his ego. She must know he's sick. God damn it Phineas.

"Good morning." he says. Should he sit down? Does she want him to? Does HE want to? Christ he's tired.

"Would you like some coffee?" Ellie asks. That might be hesitation in her voice, but she might also just be sleepy. He doesn't know her well enough to tell anymore. She glances away from him, unable to hold his eye. "It IS _your_ coffee."

The prospect of something hot to drink (and some small amount of petty indignation at Ellie drinking his coffee without him) wins out over the awkwardness and Ulrich finally nods, carefully lowering himself into one of the mismatched chairs around the card table they use in the kitchen. His fever makes his clothes feel scratchy, his joints unreliable. Ellie fishes another mug (another of his) from the cabinet and fills them both, maybe to the halfway mark. She sets them on the table, then crosses behind Ulrich to the refrigerator. He wraps his freezing fingers around the mug until it burns, pulls them away, does it again.

"Which cream do you want?"

"You pick." he says. A beat, then Ellie reappears with a half empty bottle of off-brand french vanilla cream.

Quietly, they each commence synthesizing the jet fuel in their mugs into something like a humankind beverage. Ulrich avoids her gaze and she avoids his, and they dance around each other to get to both the cream and the sugar and their fingers brush once and Ulrich is amazed that it can get worse, like, nothing in the universe is infinite but god _damn_ if he doesn't discover new capacities for primal discomfort on a daily basis. They finish, finally, and Ellie takes a dainty sip. She instantly scrunches up her cute little nose and Ulrich wishes he could sink into the floor tiles. Why did he do this. This had been completely avoidable.

He clears his throat, a mistake that shifts some load-bearing thing in his chest and sends him into a coughing fit. Brief, thanks to Jo's handiwork, but the sounds he makes are still enough to turn his own stomach. He stubbornly refuses to catch Ellie's expression and goes for his drink instead. It's vile.

"Terrible," Ulrich says, because that particular silence can_not_ be allowed to continue.

Ellie sighs gently and takes another sip.

"You should just get a new one." she murmurs, and it's a sad little admission, seeing as she had bought the coffee pot for him several years previously. Ulrich knows its continued existence in his kitchen might say something about him, like leaving Ellie a message in sharpie on the countertop, but he can't find enough will to care. He feels ragged and a bit delirious and he can't remember why he thought this was a good idea.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. She arches an eyebrow.

"For?"

"I don't know, all of it."

"Good god are you _dying?_" Ulrich finally looks at her, and her open disgust sparks some kind of hopefulness, relieves some kind of tension. They're back in familiar territory for a moment.

"What are you _whining_ about?"

Despite the minute improvement her acid provokes, Ulrich shakes his head and stands up to leave. He doesn't have the energy for this.

"I mean it though." she says behind him before he can clear the doorway. His eyes slide to the side but he doesn't turn, just puts a hand to the doorframe and waits. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Ulrich hesitates.

"I'm...do you know what Hanahaki is?" Ellie holds her mug to her lips thoughtfully, doesn't drink.

"A lover's disease." she pulls from the rollodex of her medical student brain. "The fae brought it with them, so it's still relatively unstudied." she narrows her eyes. "Plants that take root in unrequited feelings. Are you in love, Weiss?"

Ulrich shakes his head.

"It would be news to me."

Ellie looks down her nose at him, her ears folding backwards.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

The silence is heavy enough that Ulrich feels his shoulders sag. Then, under the pressure, a tiny knot of indignation made itself known.

"I said I was sorry and you got upset. What do you want from me, Elle?"

"I want you to take care of yourself so I can stay mad at you without feeling guilty."

He can't help but smile. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

"I will try."


End file.
